


Reconciliations

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-30
Updated: 2001-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 08:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder doesn't return from his abduction for almost 2 years. When he does, Cancerman captures and interrogates him. Getting no answers from the man, he summons Krycek to meet with him.





	Reconciliations

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Reconciliations by Kindli

Title: Reconciliations  
Author: Kindli   
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/K  
Rating: erm... tame R?  
Disclaimers: Not mine, no profit made. Chris Carter (undeserving as he is)Fox, and 1013 Productions owns the characters.  
Spoilers: end of season 7  
Summary: Mulder doesn't return from his abduction for almost 2 years. When he does, Cancerman captures and interrogates him. Getting no answers from the man, he summons Krycek to meet with him.  
Beta: My fantastic, wonderful, friend; Quinn.  
Notes: This was first published in a multi-fandom zine last year--but, for better or worse, it's been rewritten since then.  
Feedback: I'd greatly appreciate it.

* * *

PROLOGUE

"You're late," observed a hoarse voice, weak and yet as sharp as ever. Alex Krycek's gaze was equally scathing as he stepped into the dank room to meet the voice's owner, an elderly man in a wheelchair.

Standing by the old man's wheelchair was the well-coifed Marita Coravubias, who ignored the one-armed man's entrance by staring at a point in the wall to the side of the door.

The old man wheezed a few short breaths before switching his oxygen tank onto a higher level. Once he was breathing easier, he tapped the arm of his chair, waiting expectantly for the cigarette that Marita hastened to prepare.

Rolling his eyes in disgust, Alex Krycek watched the proceedings with impatience. "Are you quite ready yet?" His husky voice finally broke the tense silence of the small room.

Spender smiled at the young man, though his eyes retained their usual hardness. "Fox Mulder has been returned."

Cold green eyes glared back at him. "Should I care?"

"I am willing to overlook your past transgressions, should you take my current suggestion into account," the old man offered, his voice without inflection of any kind.

Indicating his willingness to at least hear the proposal, Krycek arched an eyebrow. After having failed to kill Spender when he pushed him down the stairwell two years before, Krycek had been trying to gather enough dirt on the old man to get him arrested. As of yet, he'd succeeded in doing little more than annoy him. Spender was too crafty to fall into any traps, and Krycek was beginning to feel the heat of discovery himself, thanks to old Cancerman. It was because of this that he knew he had little choice but to agree to whatever insanity the old man was now considering -- if he wanted to stay free. It certainly didn't mean he had to make it easy on the prick.

"As I said, Fox has been returned after having been missing for two years. Not even his own people know he's back. We picked him up immediately." Spender blew a short haze of smoke into the younger man's face, carefully watching his expression.

"I repeat, what has that got to do with me?"

With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, Spender continued. "Your cooperation is more important at the moment than the answers he isn't giving. Therefore, should you agree to discontinue your independent ventures, I will give him to you for any purpose you see fit."

"Very generous of you, I'm sure. And in return you want me to work for you again?"

Spender glared at him. "I don't trust you to work for me again. I want you out; as of yet you are merely a nuisance to me, but if you continue to defy me I will have to terminate you."

"So, you want me to do ... what exactly ... with Mulder?" Krycek glanced between Spender and Marita curiously. They were both studying his reaction.

"Be creative, Alex. Anything you want to do to him -- it's your choice. Cut off his arm if you wish. Torture him. Rape him. I don't particularly care as long as you occupy yourself with him and not the rebellion."

Suspicious now, Krycek's brow furrowed. "I thought you wanted him protected?"

Spender shrugged. "He's no longer useful to me."

A small gasp escaped the blonde woman's lips and she whirled to face Spender, daggers flashing in her eyes. "You promised me...." she hissed.

Waving her away, Spender turned back to Krycek. "Do you agree to my proposal?"

So Mulder had been too stubborn to reveal anything about his recent activities? Wouldn't Spender just love it if Krycek were able to get the information out of Mulder instead? Mulder hated the old buzzard as much as he did. There might be some use to the man after all. Finally, Krycek nodded his agreement.

"Good, you'll find your new property at this address." He indicated the piece of paper held out by Marita, whose lips were pursed in a silent line of rage.

Taking the slip from the irritated woman's grasp, Krycek exited the room without looking back.

KRYCEK

Killing the two goons in the living room was ridiculously easy and I continued on through the house. When I found nothing but furnished rooms with no occupants, I felt a growl forming low in my throat and wondered if this was just another trap. I heard a soft noise above me and spun around, searching for the door to the upstairs.

I strode through the old farmhouse with my gun drawn, opening doors as I tried to find the entrance to the attic. Finally seeing a ladder near the far window in one of the bedrooms I looked up and saw a small door in the ceiling. I maneuvered the ladder and climbed up, cursing under my breath when I had to tuck the gun into the back of my pants to open the trap door. I kept my body out of sight for a moment and listened carefully for signs of danger. Hearing nothing, I took a chance and hefted myself up into the upper half of the house.

Glancing around, I got my bearings before I headed toward the sliver of light on the floor about ten feet to my left. Gun back in my hand, I felt more secure as I stealthily moved forward. Listening carefully, I decided there was only one man pacing the length of the room behind the door. I knocked on the thin panel confidently. The footsteps slowed and moments later the door swung open.

"About time you got here, asshole. You were supposed to relieve me ten minutes ago," the blonde hulk growled, before getting a bullet between his eyes.

As I stepped over the body of the guard, my eyes swept over the room cautiously and skittered to a halt when they fell on the bound body of my ex-partner. I couldn't prevent the shiver of shock that flowed through me as I acknowledged the extent of abuse he'd been put through. It wasn't until now that I realized Cancerman wasn't kidding when he gave me those suggestions on how I could treat Mulder.

Arms tied above him, Mulder's body hung from a hook in the ceiling. He was still alive, but naked, bound, and heavily bruised as well as cut up. He stood there, head cocked, listening. Unable to speak because of the gag, and blind because of the blindfold, he still stood alert and apparently coherent.

I crossed the room cautiously and pulled off the blindfold, waiting for the inevitable fury to fill his eyes. But Mulder just gazed through me expressionlessly, blinking at the harsh glare of the light above him; but showing no recognition.. It was then that I noticed the glazed look in the hazel irises. The same glaze I'd seen in other returned abductees. So, it looked like I'd find a use for that serum after all, good thing I'd packed it in with my supplies. Boy Scouts really had a something there, what with that 'Be Prepared' crap.

I pulled the gag loose from the slack mouth, and set my gun down in order to get my knife. Having only one good arm really sucked. Mulder said nothing as I cut the ropes from around his wrists. His legs didn't quite hold him properly and he slumped over, a soft groan escaping his open mouth.

"Come on, Mulder. We have to get you out of here. Walk for me." I grabbed hold of Mulder's waist and supported him as he actually attempted to do as he was told. He was leaning on me heavily, and it was a slow process getting to the trap door.

Realizing we were going to have to descend the ladder to get out of here. I started swearing in earnest, wondering how the hell I was going to get Mulder downstairs. I was pretty sure it was clear, but who knew when reinforcements might show up.

Mulder listened to me curse for a moment, before he seemed to understand the problem. "I can make it on my own, just lead me."

The shock of hearing the man's voice, hoarse from what must have been constant screaming, twisted in my gut like a knife- what had they done to him? But there was no time for sympathy now- only common sense. "It's a ladder, Mulder. Can you see at all?"

The raspy voice whispered in my ear. "I see shapes and color differences, Krycek. Just nothing in definition. If you give me a minute to regain a little strength I'll make it on my own."

So Mulder did recognize me. Surprisingly, there was no suppressed anger in his usually volatile expression, or emotion at all for that matter. I couldn't help wondering if it had happened during his captivity with the aliens, or because of his most recent captors.

Guiding Mulder down the ladder wasn't as difficult as I'd assumed it would be, but the man was in obvious pain with every move he made, if the stifled moans were any indication. Though he made it on his own, it did deplete him of most of his strength, and he ended up leaning more heavily on me for support. Even so, I couldn't help but be impressed with his determination.

Finally downstairs, I led him to the kitchen, concentrating more on getting the man out of the house than on listening for other guards. Stepping into the kitchen I encountered another goon, but being burdened with the weight of the injured agent, I couldn't move fast enough to defend myself against the startled guard. It didn't matter though, since Mulder had already drawn the gun from my belt and shot him, straight through the head.

"Shit!!" I couldn't prevent the yelp of surprise, but the shock didn't stop my forward momentum. I automatically continued to lead Mulder forward, past and over the dead guard, my thoughts traveling at a furious pace, trying to understand what had just happened. Mulder couldn't see, yet the shot fired had been dead center.

Mulder offered no explanations while allowing me to lead him to the car parked behind the old dilapidated barn. I opened the door and he grimaced as he climbed into the seat.

I let Mulder get settled while I headed back to the deceptively homey little farmhouse, and made sure there weren't any other guards before making my way to the living room. Finding the quilt I'd seen earlier, I grabbed it from the couch and jogged out of the house and back to the car. Mulder needed something to cover up those bruises with, not to mention the fact that anyone in a passing car would get an eyeful. It had nothing to do with feeling sorry for the man or for not wanting him to get cold -- or any other sappy, sentimental considerations. It was expedient, plain and simple and I am nothing if not expedient. I opened the driver's door and slid into the seat tossing the blanket carelessly over Mulder's naked form. I couldn't believe the man had already fallen asleep. Of course, the poor bastard was probably in shock, given the condition of his body, so maybe it wasn't all that surprising.

Asleep in the seat beside me, Mulder didn't stir as we drove through the state, away from the farmhouse and even further away from Cancerman. I stopped for gas and picked up a sweatshirt that read 'Connecticut' for him, then knelt on the asphalt beside the passenger's seat to help him pull it on, and strapped the seat belt over him.

Practical considerations dealt with, I reached into my handy pack of supplies and pulled out a needle. Mulder's eyes were open but he still shouldn't be able to make anything out. So when I was about to push it into his arm, I was surprised when he whimpered softly and began to struggle.

"Shh ... hold still, Mulder. This will help you see properly." I couldn't believe it when the older man actually froze and let me continue. When I finished, I told Mulder to sleep again and headed back to the driver's side. I expected to have to repeat my order, but when I put my hand on the key and glanced over, Mulder was already asleep.

About eight hours after the escape, I sensed that Mulder was waking up. He turned his head slowly, and blinked at me before asking, "Where are we going?"

Glancing from the road to the bruised face of the MIA FBI agent, I replied, "Somewhere safe. Well, relatively safe. Go back to sleep, you'll need your strength for when we get there."

Without argument, Mulder closed his eyes, and was breathing deeply again within minutes.

Shaking my head in amazement, I continued driving north. It would be too easy to get used to this obedient Mulder, I knew, though I felt an odd pang of loss for the stubborn, hostile and irritating agent I was used to.

It was dark out before I decided it would be safe to turn off onto an exit, and I pulled the car into a mall parking lot. As I made sure the seat-belt was securely fastened around Mulder's waist I answered the man's tired query softly. "I'm going to go buy you some clothes, now just stay put."

MULDER

With a sigh, I watched as Krycek strode away from the car. I couldn't help wondering how he'd found me, and why. Everything was hazy in my mind, and I couldn't remember much of anything. The last thing I remembered before being taken by Cancerman's goons was searching for a spaceship. Skinner had led Krycek in one evening, and the triple agent went on to tell us about the ship and where to look. Like the 'good boy' that I was, I went with Skinner to find it. Next thing I knew, I was in a smoke-filled room being beaten up and questioned by Cancerman's men. That's when I realized I'd lost my vision.

Not that my lack of sight mattered to Cancerman. All he wanted to know was what I'd seen while on the ship. To say he was *not* happy to learn I remembered nothing of said ship would be an understatement. He sent me away to be reminded. Now almost 2 weeks later, the man that had betrayed me in so many ways had rescued me.

Thinking back over the last few weeks, I concentrated on attempting to recall the questions I'd been asked while being tortured. From the tone of the questioning, I assumed that I've been missing for quite some time... maybe even years ... and have supposedly learned some sort of truth during that missing period. Even if I were likely to crack under torture, which I'm not, I wouldn't have been able to tell them. They know more about it than I do.

At least my sight had been restored. And if what Krycek said was true, then it was thanks to the contents of the needle he'd stuck in my arm earlier today. Now if I could just find out how I had lost it in the first place, without having to admit that I couldn't remember anything ... unfortunately, considering what I knew about Krycek, it wasn't likely he'd tell me anything without getting something in return, and I had nothing with which to bargain him.

Trying to twist into a more comfortable position caused a searing pain in my chest, and I wondered again if my ribs might not have been broken. I've gone through torture before, but this was different. This time I had a feeling there were no restrictions. That there were no orders to keep me alive in the back of their minds while they tried to extract the information they needed from me.

Having decided that moving was obviously out of the question, I chewed on my lip, trying desperately to forget some of the other forms of abuse they had used. My ass still hurt, burned even, from the most recent abuse dealt me, just this morning; and a gnawing ache permeated me, beginning deep inside and radiating out. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. But I knew that even attempting that protective position would cause me more pain than I could bear right now, and crying wouldn't help me mentally or physically. So instead, I concentrated on watching the door of the small outlet store, wondering again 'why the rescue?' What could possibly be in it for Krycek? My undying gratitude seems a pale reward.

After what seemed like an eternity, I saw the doors slide open and Krycek stepped out cautiously. He glanced around the lot carefully, and finally walked toward the car and myself. Opening the drivers' side door, he jumped in, throwing his bag in the back seat.

Turning to me, he asked, "You hungry?"

In truth, I was starved. I just wasn't sure I could hold anything down while in the car, so I shook my head. "Thirsty." Was that hoarse and raspy voice my own? It hurt just to use it, and I supposed it was due to the screams my recent captors had enjoyed extracting from me, every day for the past two weeks.

I thought I recognized a glint of sympathy in Krycek's dark gaze, but it was quickly banked as he reached behind me and retrieved a bottle of water. He pulled open the cap of the container, and put it to my mouth. I didn't have the strength to protest being treated like an infant right now, probably couldn't hold the damned bottle myself anyway, so I simply accepted the soothing liquid silently. I tried to feel grateful instead of resentful, but that was eradicated when he took it away and reclosed the cap before I could finish the remainder of it.

With nothing better to do, and a burning desire to recover my strength as quickly as possible, I maneuvered my body until I was lying down again and closed my eyes.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but I awoke to a feather light touch on my cheek. My eyes flew open to see Krycek brushing his fingers lightly against my face. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could form any words, he stopped me.

"We're here. Come on now, I'll help you." He reached over me to release the snap of the seat belt. He wrapped the quilt around me and helped me to stand. I let him guide me to the cabin.

The cabin was lit from the inside already-- and I felt a shiver of fear course through me. Did he go in to turn on the lights before coming back to awaken me, or was there someone else here? Was I about to be greeted by a whole new set of tortures?

I took the steps slowly, each movement agonizing. How could I have escaped the other house with such relative ease; hurting this badly? The worst part was knowing that forcing myself to walk to the house wasn't even going to guarantee me safety.

KRYCEK

We slowly make our way to the old fashioned log cabin. I encouraged him to keep going, though the strength of the tremors flowing through his body as we made our way up the stairs indicated that his strength was flagging. I didn't have to be psychic to realize he was coming down from the adrenaline high he'd been on since the rescue.

This cabin was a safe house of sorts for me. I was pretty sure that, as of yet, Spender didn't know of its existence. It was the perfect place for recovering.

I wondered where he'd been for the last two years, and if it had something to do with his easy acceptance of me. Whatever it was, I was going to take advantage of it and try and convince him to confide in me.

I opened the door and shivered as a rush of cold air greeted me. I glanced at the fireplace and decided to light it as soon as Mulder was asleep. "Come on, Mulder. There's a bedroom on the left."

Once in the bedroom, I let Mulder lean against the wall as I pulled the sheets out and flicked on the lights. He moaned softly when I sat him onto the mattress.

"Let me get this shirt off of you." I reached down to pull it off of him. He helped as best he could and soon sat before me naked. Odd that it didn't bother him. His stomach was layered with recent and fading bruises, while his back was covered with welts and various cuts. Shit; that had to hurt. I knew it did, I'd looked the same way at various times in my life. A sudden thought occured to me, and I wondered if he were hurting in any less visible area's as well. I almost asked, but stopped myself; if he wanted me to know, he'd tell me himself. Instead, I said, "Hell, I'll get something to clean this with." I watched as he lay onto his stomach, wincing at the movement, and strode out of the room.

Getting the medical supplies from the bathroom, I glanced longingly at the fireplace- and shook my head as I returned to Mulder. I'd get it lit once I'd finished caring for my 'guest'.

Mulder was in the exact position as when I'd left. I carefully set the tray onto the bedside table and reached my hand into the warm water to squeeze out the rag. I slowly dabbed at his back, washing off the blood and assessing the damage. There was no reaction until I used the alcohol, at which time he released a long low hiss, and his back shuddered under my hand.

"Sit up, Mulder."

Doing as he was told, I noticed the obvious pain in his expression and wondered exactly how much he'd hidden from me at the farmhouse. I wrapped his upper body with gauze and cloth before I let him lay down again. His eyes were already drooping, so I suggested he sleep before I left the room in darkness.

***MULDER

This time I awoke to the smell of food. My stomach growled, reminding me that it had been days since I'd been allowed to eat. When I opened my eyes, I saw Krycek hovering at the edge of the bed, preparing to put a tray over my lap. I struggled to sit up, pain clenched in my stomach and nausea rolled through me. I swallowed it down and took deep breaths. He waited for me to nod before he moved to set the bowl of soup on the tray. I struggled to keep my hands steady, but they shook so much I couldn't even get a spoonful of the broth to my mouth.

I heard Krycek sigh before he reached out to take the spoon from my grip. He fed me slowly, allowing my stomach to settle before offering me more. His eyes were shadowed, and I couldn't read him. Why was he being so kind to me? I mean, it's not like I had ever helped him. I was going to ask him that very question, when I stopped myself. It would be foolish to annoy him while I was still weak. Besides, if I waited long enough, he'd eventually tell me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered when I had let logic win over emotions when it came to this man, but mentally shrugged. It was more practical to regain my strength before I attempted anything.

The bowl was half empty before I knew that I could eat no more. He nodded his approval and almost smiled. The look in his eyes was almost tender, before he caught himself and went cold again. He set the soup on the table again before removing the tray and placing it on the floor.

"There's a bucket next to the bed if you get sick. The bathroom is directly to your left." And so saying, he switched off the lamp and left the room.

Having nothing better to do, I maneuvered my body until I lay down again and closed my eyes.

It didn't take long for the dreams to start. Images flashed through my mind, fragments and images that made no sense. I felt the danger, but couldn't see it, couldn't understand it. Until it was too late; and I was trying to escape. But escape never came ... until I opened my eyes, and saw Krycek standing at the head of the bed; watching me like a hawk. Alarms went off in my head; this wasn't Krycek, I could feel the wrongness in him even if I couldn't identify what wasn't right. I realized I was still dreaming, and struggled to awaken.

***KRYCEK

I sat at the edge of the mattress, watching Mulder toss fitfully in his sleep. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and he slowly twisted this way and that, the physical pain interfering even with his sleep. He was whispering, but it was in a foreign language, and I couldn't understand any of it. I reached out a hand to his shoulder, intending to wake him up, when his eyes flew open.

"Krycek?" He regarded me with such deep terror I wondered what else he was seeing, then his posture relaxed and he sighed with relief.

That wasn't an emotion I expected to inspire, but at least he was becoming alert again. "What were you dreaming about?" I wondered if he had dreamt about his sister's abduction -- or his own.

Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head. "I don't remember." His voice was still hoarse, but it was becoming more recognizable.

"Was it about your sister?"

"No, I haven't dreamt of her since I accepted her death. This was different." He whispered, reaching out a hand to grab mine.

I jerked away from his touch, staring at his hand like I would a snake. His eyes fell and he turned away from me. Damn him, why should I feel guilty? Yet I found myself reaching out to him, tentatively, ready to pull away if he rejected my advance, cursing myself for this inexplicable weakness. He faced me again when I touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

I had no idea what he was talking about. "For what?"

He turned confused eyes onto me. "I'm not sure ... I think..." he trailed off, unsure of himself.

Maybe this would be a good time to try to get him to talk about where he'd been for the last two years. "Was it about your time on the ship?"

He stared at me. "What ship?"

"The spaceship." I had a sinking feeling he was on the level about this.

"Cancerman was asking questions about my time on the spaceship too. I don't remember it. I don't even remember being gone, Krycek," he admitted, watching me cautiously.

I lifted my hand to push a lock of hair out of my eyes, and saw him flinch. He thought I was going to hit him. So Cancerman hadn't believed him when he'd claimed not to remember. I felt a hot surge of anger surge through me at the cruel bastard. What made him think Mulder would be different than the other abductees?

"What do you remember?" The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. But, how could I help him remember? Many of the abductees had nightmares, sometimes flashbacks ... if I could convince him to trust me, he might confide in me. I grabbed the glass of water I'd left for him from the bedside table and held it for him as he drank.

He raised a shaky hand and brushed it through his hair. "I remember going out to the woods with Skinner ... and the next thing I know, I'm in a smoke filled room, being interrogated by old 'Smoky.' himself."

I nodded. His accounts fit with statements given by other abductees.

"How long was I gone?" His eyes were focused intently on my face.

I told him.

"Two years?" Shocked by my response, he stared off into space. Then he turned back to me. "How did Scully take it?"

I should have known he'd ask something like that. I crammed down the flare of resentment that always seemed to surface around the two of them and with magnificently feigned indifference, I shrugged. "She got a new partner. They work well together. The baby was born early last year and seems to be normal, so far. She's the head of the X-Files now, but she still hopes you'll return. Skinner took it the worst though. He feels responsible for having lost you."

Mulder let this sink in. "What baby? Whose?"

'Good old' one-track mind Mulder. I sighed impatiently and shrugged. "I'm not sure. She thinks it's yours, but Cancerman thinks it's his. Then again, he thinks he could have fathered the entire FBI staff." I tried to joke about it, but I felt a jittery nervousness as I spoke, wondering how he would react. I just couldn't figure out why I cared so much.

"Cancerman's? God, I hope not." He actually shuddered.

I smiled at him, still not sure why his reaction was so important to me, or more to the point, what I wanted it to be. What did I think he would do? Fall into the doting dad routine this late in the game? Knowing Mulder and his blind devotion to Scully, he just might and wouldn't that just be too cute? "He could be yours, you know."

"It's a He? What's his name?" He avoided the parentage issue completely now.

"William. After your father."

"Seriously? And you said she has a new partner now? Is he a believer?" He changed the subject.

I shook my head. "He's even more of a skeptic than she is. It's actually quite amusing, watching them try to make sense of the paranormal." I knew Mulder would never let the question of the parentage of Scully's child drop that easily but it was such a relief to not have to deal with it NOW that I let it go.

"I suppose it would be." Some of the 'old' Mulder finally showed through as he grinned at me.

I couldn't help but grin back. What the hell was going on with me, anyway?

***MULDER

My mind was spinning madly with all this new information. I'd been gone for two years? And what was this about Scully being a mother? How was it possible? Her ovaries had been removed during her abduction. I know they had been, I still had the tube holding them in my possession. At least I thought I did.

I wanted to ask Krycek, but I didn't want to push my luck. I'd felt the tension in his body when I'd questioned him about the child's parentage and I didn't want to shut him up completely by asking more than he was willing to answer. Thankfully I'd chosen the right time to change the subject, and he actually smiled at me. It was strange how his smile made my heart beat double time.

When he asked me about the ship, I'd been pretty sure he was working for Cancerman again and the wily old bastard was trying out a new technique to try to access my memories. When I said I didn't remember, he let it go, almost as if he really believed me. The only thing is, if he wasn't trying to get at my memories, then why didn't he drop me into Skinner's lap, or Scully's and be done with me? It had to be a simple matter of him working a different angle. That would align with the Krycek I had always known.

My muscles tightened involuntarily when I finally had it worked through and I realized he was just trying to gain my trust again, but I did my best to conceal my newfound knowledge. If he noticed my reaction, he didn't comment on it, probably not understanding that I'd figured out his scheme. Instead, he placed his hand on my shoulder, immediately withdrawing the offending member when I flinched, and his expression shifted and closed.

"Get some more sleep, Mulder. It's the only way your body is going to heal." The bastard made it sound like he cared.

He helped me settle back under the covers, tucking me in like a child, and left me alone again.

This time when I awoke, he wasn't there, which gave me the space to try to understand the remnants of my dream. It was impossible. The pieces were simply too fragmented and confused and there was no making sense of them.

The curtain against the window dulled the sunlight, but the room was still bright and I winced against the harsh glare. Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I took in my surroundings. It was an awesome feeling, being able to see things clearly again. After two weeks without that ability, I really appreciated it now. I was lying in a queen size bed, covered with some blankets and the quilt from yesterday. The room was a rustic style, the walls were made of polished wood, and a huge fish was mounted above my head. Next to the bed stood a tall floor lamp. Beside it was the bed-stand, still holding the half-full glass of water. I reached for it, but the pain in my chest halted the action in mid-motion. Damn, but I hurt. Suddenly I realized I had more urgent needs than that drink of water anyway. I desperately needed to use the bathroom. I forced myself to my feet, using the iron bar of the bed for support, and fought down the nausea.

After a few false starts, I finally made my way out of the room, and smelled food cooking. My stomach promptly turned upside-down revolting at the thought of investigating so I stuck to my original plan of finding the facilities.

I'm not sure how much later it was, but eventually, Krycek knocked on the door, calling in to ask if I was all right. Like it really mattered to him or something-- I mused bitterly. I didn't bother answering him and he opened the door to find me staring at my reflection in the mirror. I didn't look any older physically, but I FELT older. My eyes looked different, like I'd learned more than I ever thought possible. Yet I could remember none of it.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked, reaching out to touch my cheek.

I flinched away from him and shook my head. "I don't look any different. Why don't I look any older?"

His eyes were sad as he rubbed a finger against the stubble on my chin. "You do look older, Mulder. It's in your eyes."

Startled to hear him echo my earlier thoughts, all I could do was stare at him curiously.

"Your innocence is gone. The last time I saw you, you had retained your sense of wonder, your ability to appreciate the mundane. It's not there anymore," he explained.

I looked back at my reflection, wondering if I would see that, now that it had been explained so eloquently. Now that I was thinking about it, I realized he was right. I didn't see that it was missing from my eyes or anything; I noticed it within myself. There was emptiness inside my soul.

Chucking me under the chin like a child, he suggested, "Let's get those bandages changed, then you can try to eat some breakfast."

***KRYCEK

When he didn't want to return to bed, I let him lie on the couch instead. He sat staring into the flames, his thoughts elsewhere. The nervous energy that I remembered as being a part of him since the first day I met him was replaced by stillness. What bothered me was that it wasn't a peaceful type of stillness; it seemed more like a 'learned' stillness.

He insisted he could feed himself this time, so I went outside to get some firewood and do some chores. When I came back into the house, he was asleep-- the tray of mostly uneaten food lay forgotten on the floor.

It was strange because what I had told him earlier was true. He did seem to have lost his innocence. He may not remember the last two years, but there had obviously been lessons learned subconsciously. I wondered what he could have seen and learned to jade him so permanently. I thought he had been bad the night I sent him to the Weikamp Air Force Base, but compared to this, that was nothing. The Consortium had done their best to mislead him, yet through it all, he remained true to his cause. Not until after learning the true facts about the Conspiracy did he seem to lose hope.

I've always admired him because of his determination-- he was the only man I'd met that could be considered as devoted to a cause, as I was myself. Now here he was beaten and broken and it was the fault of that bastard, Cancerman.

If Mulder would just trust me, we could work together to bring the black-lunged freak down. If not, I'd bring him down myself; I didn't much care how he toppled, only that he did so, and damn soon. Feeling edgy, I grabbed a book from the windowsill and sat down across from Mulder unwilling to let him out of my sight. Almost an hour later, he started to move restlessly and began muttering in his sleep. I leaned closer, frowning at the unfamiliar sounds coming from his still raw throat. It was no language I'd ever heard, and I wondered if I could find someone to translate it for me. That in mind, I began digging into my 'Boy Scout' pack for the tape player I'd brought along on a whim, and pressed the record button.

About ten minutes later, he began to scream. So much for thinking his larynx would have a chance to heal. He began shaking his head in denial, tears leaking from his closed eyes, repeating "no," over and over again. I had more than enough taped by now so I flicked the tape recorder off and put it back, before I stepped over and shook his shoulder.

"Mulder!" I tried to get his attention.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and he lashed out at me with a blow that would have killed me, had my reflexes been any slower. Where the hell had he learned a move like that? There was no recognition in his expression so I said his name again, louder.

He came back to himself very suddenly. One moment, he was glaring at me with pure hatred, the next he was blinking at me in confusion.

"What did you dream about?" I asked immediately, hoping he would answer me if I caught him off guard.

His voice was hoarse again. "There was a fight of some sort going on. Everyone with me died."

"On the ship? "What kind of fight was it?"

He glared at me. "I don't remember."

"It helps when you talk about your dreams, Mulder. It helped me, when I had nightmares about the night I lost my arm." I didn't bother mentioning the flashbacks I still suffered with- about the alien possession, and being locked in a silo. My time in the Tunisian prison wasn't exactly a dream I enjoyed either. But I wasn't going to admit that much to him- I only wanted him to feel I could relate, not to think I might be weaker.

His eyes took on a speculative gleam, and unaccountably, I started to feel rather nervous. "You suffer from nightmares, Krycek?"

"Yeah...." I wondered what he'd make of that little revelation. But instead of continuing that venue of questioning, he turned away from me. "What time is it?"

I blinked, confused by the non-sequitor then glanced at the clock above the mantle and told him it was 3:30.

"I was blind yesterday. But you had something that fixed that problem. What caused my blindness?"

Okay, well obviously we'd gone from having a conversation to throwing a series of disconnected ideas around. I shrugged. Fine by me if it didn't get us anywhere. "It happens to any true abductee that's been gone for more than 6 months," I started, but he interrupted me.

"What do you mean, 'True Abductee'?"

"A 'True Abductee' is someone who was taken by the aliens, rather than the government. Anyway, the abductees who come back after having been in space for more than 6 months are usually blind. Luckily for you, we've developed something that fixes it," I explained.

He gazed at me curiously. "Have there been a lot of 'Us'?"

I shrugged a little non-plussed. He'd never shown so much interest in what I had to say before. "More than enough."

***MULDER

So I was a 'True Abductee', while the government took the others, huh? That was an interesting fact. One that I had already come up with, of course, but as of yet had been unable to prove.

Krycek's admission to nightmares had been unsettling. For some reason, I'd always thought of him as being undefeatable. Learning that he had some weaknesses made him human. A bit uncomfortably, I glanced at his missing arm. He wore a state-of-the-art prosthetic, but it was still pretty obvious that it wasn't real. I'd come just 'This' close to losing my own arm that night, and I regretted the fact that it hadn't occurred to me that Krycek might be in the same danger of 'Protection'. Not that it would have mattered if I did have an idea of it, I reminded myself.

"Scully was taken by the government, wasn't she?" I probed, beginning to get used to the hoarseness of my voice. Krycek stiffened again and nodded. Now that was interesting. I'd been tossing out random questions, just to get a baseline to work off of, and it only now struck me. The only time he tensed was when I mentioned Scully. I filed the information away for further use, unwilling to risk our tentative truce by asking why Scully pissed him off so.

I thought back to my dreams. The images had been clearer, and there had been a story to it this time. If only I could remember the details.

Unfortunately, the fragile peace was broken when Krycek turned away from me to grab the remote control from the table. "Watch some television." He gave it to me and stood up.

I struggled with a feeling of loss as I watched him walk into the kitchen, wondering why this domestic little scene didn't even make me uncomfortable. Pushing such thoughts aside, I turned the TV on. Laying there on the couch watching TV was a familiar enough occasion for me, so why did it feel so foreign? Switching the channels, I searched for something to watch. He had satellite so there were plenty of channels for me to go through.

I stopped at a news channel, realizing that a lot of things could be different after two years, including the President. After a half hour of the same old crap, I switched to another channel. Very little changed it seemed, only the names and faces were different. Coming to a channel that was getting feed from Washington DC, I set the remote down. The screen was filled with the live footage of a building burning to the ground. The ambulance crews were at the site, helping the wounded. Suddenly I understood what I was seeing and called for Krycek, frustrated to I realize the likelihood of his hearing me would be zilch to nada, but I tried again anyway.

"Hey, Krycek! Come look at this!" My hoarse voice cracked as I tried to raise it to a shout, but it was louder than it had been any other time today.

Krycek came running out of the kitchen with a concerned expression on his face. It would have been funny, if it weren't so touching. Damn, where did that thought come from?

Not seeing anything wrong, he glared at me. I pointed to the screen.

There on a stretcher lay Cancerman, the EMT's no longer attempting to revive him. They were covering his face with a sheet. Coravubias was being lifted into the ambulance as we watched.

"Well, what do you know?" I heard Krycek mumble.

"You don't think it's just another trick?" I wondered aloud.

Krycek shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "It might be."

I stared at the flames, hypnotized by their intensity, until my head exploded in agony, jagged bits of memory tumbling in a jangled heap through my brain. I clutched at my skull, trying desperately to press the pieces back together and stop the pain. The nightmares I'd been suffering from for the last few weeks were beginning to make a horrible kind of sense with each flashback, the images settling into a jigsaw sort of pattern in my brain that kept getting more and more clear.

It took several long moments for the pain to subside and when I finally looked up, it was into the concerned eyes of Alex Krycek. I wanted so badly to believe that the emotion I could see so clearly in his face was real, that the tenderness in the hand rubbing my back meant something, but how could I be sure? This was Alex Krycek after all, a traitor who cared for nothing and no one but his own survival. And yet... I wanted to trust him so badly.

I recalled my apology from the day before; the strange desire to let him know I understood. It wasn't until after the words left my lips that I realized I had no idea what I was talking about. Though I knew my dreams had something to do with it, I had absolutely no clue if they really signified anything.

It wasn't until now, with his fingers sifting through my hair and his whispered words of comfort into my ear, that I realized I trusted him. I trusted Alex Krycek. Without any logic or rhyme or reason to it, I trusted him. I'd always been ruled by my emotions when dealing with this man, and while it was a complete turn-about from the past, it was comforting to realize I was falling back into a pattern after two weeks of confusion. And maybe there was a reason to it because I had a nagging sense that my dreams had something to do with the strange shift.

Turning to press my face into his chest, I began to talk.

***KRYCEK

I couldn't believe it when Mulder turned to clutch at my shirt. I knew he was having flashbacks, but I expected him to clam up on me again. He had built up his defenses this morning and I was sure it would be impossible to get past them. Yet here was Mulder being held tightly within my prosthetic arm, while my real arm stroked his back.

When he started talking, his hoarse voice was so soft I could hardly hear him. Which was no wonder, considering the abuse he had dealt it not even ten minutes ago.

"In almost every dream, you're a part of it." He turned his face so his cheek rested against my chest. "Leading me out of danger, into danger, wherever you wanted me to be. Sometimes my enemies died, sometimes my friends died." Mulder looked up at me, tears in his eyes. "No matter where I was, you were there with me." A shudder ran through his body as he continued to speak. "The thing is, it wasn't you and deep down I knew that." I pulled him closer to me, wondering where he was going with this. "But it's not until later in these dreams that I learn to think before I react to you, and so many of us died before I wised up." He angled his head so he could gaze up at me.

Having Mulder trust me was a refreshing change albeit confusing and rather disturbing. Why the sudden attitude shifts? I couldn't even begin to speculate any more than I could figure out what he was leading to. "What do you mean, 'react' to me?"

"A lot of people manipulate me, Krycek." The chuckle that escaped him was bitter. "You don't think I'd missed that fact, I hope. It was a choice I made, with the assumption that it would lead me closer to the truth in the long run-- which it did." He paused, so I nodded my agreement, my chin brushing against his forehead. "But it was different with you. My head never made the decisions when you were nearby." He sighed softly, the confession not coming easy for him.

What the hell kind of fool logic was that? Never mind the fact that I walked into situations that I knew could end up killing me, at least I knew what I was doing. He jumped into things blindly, hoping to come out alive. I had to ask, "So what did?"

"My emotions. I knew you were leading me around by the nose, into some scheme or another, but I didn't care." He snorted self-deprecatingly. "All that mattered was proving that I could do whatever it was that you were planning for me to do." He shook his head against my chest, annoyed with himself. "Like it really mattered or something. I like to think I'm immune to such stupidity by now." With that he pulled away from me.

Unsure how to react to such a confession; I frowned. "You thought you had something to prove to me?" I couldn't believe it. Mulder didn't care what anyone thought; yet here he was, saying that my opinion meant something to him. I was actually important to this self-absorbed, annoying genius.

I felt something shift deep in my heart and was unable to escape the knowledge of how much that meant to me. When I'd first met him, all I wanted was to meet Mulder's impossible to reach standards and prove to myself that I was good enough to have Mulder's high opinion. Not because I had any deep feelings for him or anything, but because it was a difficult goal. Yet suddenly here I was, realizing my deepest desire had been attained. And I no longer had the slightest idea of what I thought anymore.

"You always knew more than I did. I realized things, but couldn't prove them. You learned things and had the evidence." He sounded wistful as he spoke, and no wonder. All he wanted to do was prove to the world that there were aliens taking humans and testing on them, and I could prove it all. Not that I would, of course.

Even now that he'd been one of those taken and tested on by the aliens, he still couldn't prove it to anyone.

Though now that there wasn't going to be any point in going after Cancerman, I was actually entertaining the idea of allowing him to have his hearts desire. If Mulder wanted to create mass chaos by proving to the world that aliens existed; who better than myself, to help him. We could work together and both get what we want. He'd expose his precious Truth, and I would pick up the pieces of a world in turmoil.

The plan had nothing to do with any sudden desire to work with him as a partner again; it simply made sense.

"So, you wanted to be like me?" I asked, wanting to hear him admit it.

***MULDER

I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. All I had to do was appeal to his vanity and I had his complete attention. He was trying to sound so casual, but the desire for recognition was too strong for him to hide. "Yes, I did." I wasn't lying, either. I couldn't help but wish sometimes that I had chosen the easier route, too.

The night Krycek sent me to the Weikamp Air Force Base, he'd told me there were two choices.... resist or serve. He'd chosen to serve and to get others, like myself, to resist for him. I'd chosen to resist outright. He took chances with his life by being an informant, but he didn't face that danger every day he went to work.

His reaction to my admission had me curious. He didn't mock me for it; in fact, he seemed shocked to even consider the idea. It was rather gratifying to know I could surprise him, but I didn't expect him to be so touched.

He turned to me, his eyes a little bright, and opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it before actually saying anything. He stood up suddenly and turned away from me. "I'm going to make us some dinner."

Watching him leave, I wondered what the hell that was all about. I hadn't said anything that should have bothered him. I hadn't even mentioned Scully. Fine, if he wanted to run from me, then that was up to him.

I told myself I was glad to be alone again as I lay down and closed my eyes. My muscles were screaming in absolute agony over the prolonged use and I couldn't quite stifle a groan when I turned on my side to sleep. Hopefully with the knowledge that Cancerman was dead, I could actually get some rest.

***KRYCEK

The next morning I was digging through the drawers, searching for an eggbeater. I punched the counter-top in frustration. Yesterday, Mulder had shocked the hell out of me by telling me that he actually cared about my opinion. Why didn't I think to use that to my advantage right away? No, I had to get distracted with thoughts of working with him as a partner again. Just as I was about to suggest my idea, I realized how greatly he would disapprove of my desire to take control of a world in chaos. So, I went off to the kitchen to get my mind off my stupidity and by the time I returned, he was no longer speaking to me.

Mulder wanted to shave this morning, but he couldn't hold the razor steady, so I helped him. While we were at the sink, his eyes on the reflection of the sharp edge of the blade in the mirror, I almost ended up slicing his throat when he suddenly doubled over in pain.

"What is it, Mulder?" I didn't bother hiding the concern from my voice, but he ignored that completely.

He grabbed his head with both hands and whimpered. I knew he was having flashbacks, but he refused to tell me anything about them. "Get away from me, Krycek." Then he's asking me to get him coffee, the creep.

I couldn't help but wonder what he remembered, and if it had any significance to our lives now. The aliens were still planning to colonize the world, that hadn't changed, but they had put it off. To give us time to survive- as slaves, but alive just the same. We couldn't stop it, but those of us that were smart would take advantage of it and make the most of it.

Now he sat in the living room watching television, while I stood in here preparing breakfast. Such a sweet scene, I thought with a grimace of distaste. When did I decide to become a housewife? It didn't stop me from preparing some Oatmeal though. He wasn't going to be able to eat much, if his physical reaction to the flashback this morning was any indication. It was unlikely that within a mere hour his stomach was suddenly going to feel strong again.

I balanced the tray against my hip and stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room. Mulder lay there on the couch, sleeping peacefully. It was a relief that he wasn't being plagued with nightmares today.

I wakened him carefully and encouraged him to sit up so he could eat.

***MULDER

The last few days went on the same way. Crippling headaches while flashbacks tore into my brain and soft words of comfort from Alex Krycek. He no longer even bothered asking me to talk to him about what I remembered, which made sense, since I refused to tell him anything. My body healed as he took care of me, and I was regaining my strength at record speed.

After tossing and turning in bed, I finally decided to watch some television; which put me to sleep right away.

Some time later, I woke to the flickering of the black and white picture of the Three Stooges on the screen. Since the TV was muted, I wondered what had woken me. As I listened, I heard a muffled noise again. Following the sound, I ended up in Krycek's room. The young man was thrashing about on the bed, his whimpers so soft they were almost inaudible. I was careful about waking him though, not sure if I should. I said his name softly, and then a little louder.

He jerked awake and stared at me. His eyes went from dazed to alert in a second, and he blinked at me in confusion. "What's the matter, Mulder? Do you need something?"

I was surprised to realize he was serious. He thought I'd awakened him because I wanted something. "You were dreaming," I observed, wondering if he would clam up on me as I did with him.

"Yes," he agreed, "I was."

Raising an eyebrow, I used the same phrase he had used on me earlier that week. "Talking about your dreams will usually help. Would you like to tell me about it?"

He shrugged, and inclined his head, indicating I sit next to him. I was shocked when he decided to actually take me up on my offer, but I couldn't deny the surge of pleasure that shot through me at the sign of trust.

Holding his pillow in front of him like a shield, he began to explain, "I was in a prison in Tunisia about two and a half years ago. Cancerman had me sent there after an incident with some tablets-- sometimes, I couldn't defend myself and ended up with some man's dick up my ass. Other times, I found myself lying on the ground eating dirt. I remember the cramped corners of the cell... not being able to escape, or to get out. Being trapped again." Krycek's husky voice filled the room as he spoke, and he settled his chin on the pillow, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Unable to resist the urge to comfort him, I moved closer and wrapped my arms around him. He sat there stiffly at first, but gradually allowed himself to relax. I fell asleep leaning against the headboard, with Krycek lying on my almost healed stomach.

The next morning found me with a terrible ache in my belly, and Krycek was nowhere to be seen. I carefully stood up and followed my nose to the kitchen. Over a week had passed since Krycek brought me here to recover and I figured I should be ready for the real world in another week.

Krycek stood at the counter, stirring eggs for an omelet. He glanced back at me and then returned his gaze to the bowl he held in his false arm. Red stained his cheeks as he mumbled a soft good-morning. So it hadn't been as easy for him to talk last night as he made it seem, huh? Considering how smoothly the words had left his mouth last night it hadn't occurred to me that he might have been uncomfortable with it. I began to feel guilty; he was willing to talk to me about his fears, while I would no longer tell him anything about me at all.

I returned the greeting and asked if I could help with anything. I ended up setting the table and watching him as he cooked the omelets.

We sat at the kitchen table and ate silently. Finally unable to stand the quiet anymore, I asked, "Would you like to know how I was able to stop reacting to your look-alike?"

***KRYCEK

Trying not to seem anxious, I nodded. He hadn't offered any more details about the past, and I stopped asking. It just got him agitated, and that was the last thing I needed. I kept my mouth shut and let him do what he wanted, while being there for him when he needed the support.

"I learned to listen to my instincts. He would stand at the head of my bed, waking me from a sound sleep so as to catch me off-guard. He played off of my need to impress you, and it worked quite well, until I realized he couldn't replicate your being. That essence that makes you purely Krycek."

"An essence? What kind of essence?"

Mulder shrugged and a blush began to stain his cheeks as he realized what he was about to say. "It's hard to explain. You have a mixture of bravery, intelligence and determination all together in your, I don't know, your aura. He couldn't copy it."

If his opinion of me was so high, then why was he so unwilling to tell me about what he remembered? That's what I wanted to know, and told him so. I couldn't believe it when he started talking.

He has gained in volume and intensity, but I don't think he'll ever lose the rasp in his voice.

"I remember being taken in a spaceship, after the Shape Shifter collected us all, and took us into outer space. We were being taken to one of their planets in a different galaxy, when the ship went under attack. The other ship took over ours, and we were all taken aboard. It turns out that we were expected to either help fight our original captors, or be executed. There wasn't much of a decision to be made there. They taught us to fight and to kill, even allowing us to rank as officers on our own ship. It seemed like we were always fighting. We were winning the war, but there was one important battle that still needed to be fought. It was during the first battles when we were still learning to fight, that I encountered him in your shape quite often. I fought against my own people every so often, because of his treachery.

The galaxy that was home to the majority of the oilians was still alive and beginning to prosper again. My ship volunteered to go in and try to destroy the remaining planets, along with all occupants. It was a dangerous mission and we didn't expect to survive. Most of my crewmates didn't. I was one of five that returned. Our reward for having helped destroy the oilians was a trip home." Keeping his eyes averted, he finished his tale in a barely audible voice. "They didn't intentionally wipe our minds though. I don't know if the others maybe still have their memories, or if it was just the shock of the atmosphere change- or what."

There was no deceit in his eyes and I found myself believing him. It explained the killer instinct I'd seen him display twice in twenty-four hours. The dead on aim with the gun in the kitchen last week, and the blow that would have killed me, had I not gotten out of the way in time.

"So, in essence, you're telling me that the threat of oilian invasion has been eliminated?" I suddenly realized. "Now we have to worry about a new alien threat?"

Mulder shook his head. "The beings that we fought with aren't interested in conquering our planet. In fact, they're very adament about not coming into contact with us until we've advanced further in our own right." He brought a forkful of eggs to his mouth and chewed, before continuing, "I remember my commander telling me that it had been decided among the peace loving planets, to leave us alone until we were prepared to accept them in peace."

I couldn't believe this, was this my Mulder? The man whose motto was 'Trust Noone'? So, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Peace loving planets? If they're so peace loving, then why did they make you fight against the oilians, and the Others? Weren't they going to execute you, if you didn't?"

"They were fighting our battle, a battle they knew we didn't have the technology to win. Had I and the other humans refused to fight with them, we would have been considered traitors, or even worse, cowards. Either would have been unacceptable to them."

Okay, that made a strange sort of sense to me. But, I was still suspicious. "If they knew we didn't have the technology, and they are actually willing to deal with us in peace, then why couldn't they approach us? We've been attempting to make contact with other creatures of intelligence for decades. Can't they share their technology with us?" I wanted to know, feeling insulted. I wasn't sure why I felt insulted, but I did.

Mulder smiled at me, but his eyes were sad. "Do you really think the people on this planet would welcome any sort of alien with open arms? Most of the power-nations in the world are well aware of the oilians, and our race against time to create a hybrid that would survive the takeover. Any overture, no matter how peaceful, would result in panic, distrust, and very likely war. A war that we would lose, but we would launch it all the same. Fear is a powerful emotion, used to keep soldiers fighting in all countries. There's no way that our generation, or even the next two would welcome the aliens with anything but fear and hostility."

"But if they offered us a bit of their technology as a goodwill token..." I suggested, even though I knew he was right.

"The way they see it, even if they were welcomed on Earth, because of their knowledge, it wouldn't be on equal footing. It would be a conquering of sorts, with our blessing, but still not something they're willing to do." He paused to take a drink of orange juice, before continuing, "They respect our ability to survive in a world with so little in the way of technology, they admire us and our way of life, and they are very fond of our many unique cultures. If they suddenly came to us with all this new intelligence, we would likely embrace it quite willingly, once we got over the fact that it isn't ours. We would want to be just like them, and the true human culture would disappear under the alien gifts."

I couldn't take my eyes off of his face, I was amazed to think that there were intelligent beings out there that weren't interested in conquering us. I mean, I loved power, and just assumed it was a given that those stronger would insist on domination. Yet these beings, who had apparently rescued us, were uninterested in taking over, forcing their reign on us.

"Soooo, you're saying they don't want us to become like them?" I finally asked.

Mulder nodded. "It's more that they don't want us to become the same as they are. They want us to meet them on an equal footing. There have been visitations, by friendly crafts, as they come to see what we've done, accomplished, and learned. But they don't wish to conquer us, and they don't wish to fight us."

"Why not?" I couldn't help it, I just had to know.

Hazel eyes looked directly into mine, and he said, "When you know you have the ability to win, yet are willing to live and let live; it proves to others of the same intellect, where the true strength lies. It doesn't matter to them who has the most followers in their religion of choice, or who has the most citizens paying taxes; to them, it important how many friends they have. As my commander told me, the bullies never come out ahead. They're rich and in power for only a short while, before being overtaken by a stronger bully. She said that was a lesson we've yet to learn."

I wondered if he knew of my desire for world domination. Was he lecturing me? Yet, the eyes held no accusation, and his tone held no anger. Oddly enough, what he said was getting through to me. Maybe he was right. I was now glad I hadn't spoken to him of my plans, or he'd really be pitying me. So, I decided to change to subject to something a bit more innocuous. "Did you learn to speak a different language?" I finally asked.

He searched his memory and nodded.

Taking a gamble that he wouldn't go ballistic on me, I walked to my pack and pulled out my tape recorder. "You were talking in your sleep, but I couldn't understand you. So I taped it, intending to ask you about it, if you remembered." So what if it wasn't the entire truth? He didn't have to know that. I brought it over, hitting the rewind button. Sitting down next to him, I pressed play. There was a whirring, but no sound. Finding the casket empty, I groaned.

Mulder began chuckling. "Now you know how it feels to not have any proof, either."

I glared at him, wondering why he sounded so cheerful about it.

***MULDER

The expression on his face when he realized the tape player was empty had been priceless. Some day I might even tell him that I had removed it when I was snooping. But I didn't plan to confess any day soon; not until I knew without a doubt that he could be trusted.

I couldn't believe he was accepting my story at face value. The Captain of my ship had been fond of me, and she we had many long discussions in the evenings. I'd asked many of the same questions, Krycek had asked me; and it was a relief to know that I wasn't the only one to not understand the alien's reasonings.

I stopped chuckling long enough to reach over the table and carefully and wrap my hand over his. "It doesn't really matter. You can tape me next time I talk in my sleep." If I was lucky, he might even be thinking along the same lines right now.

He shrugged, but didn't pull his hand from mine.

"Can I ask you a question now?" I dared to hope.

The touchy bastard shrugged again, not giving me an answer one way or the other. I grinned at him anyway.

"Why did you decide to rescue me, and how did you know where to find me?"

When he lowered his eyes and his hand started to twitch nervously within my own, I felt my heart sink. Until I considered the fact that if his emotions weren't involved, he wouldn't feel guilty, and my spirits started to rise again.

I hadn't even heard what the rat bastard had done yet.

"Spender sent for me last week. He was pissed, 'cause I was trying to expose him, you know? So he offered me a choice. Either I 'took care of' you, or he would kill me. Like I was going to ask him to kill me, but anyway, he gave you to me, like you were some sort of toy. He said I could do anything I wanted to you, as long as I stopped antagonizing him. That's basically what he said anyway. So I figured, you hated him as much as I did- we could work together, right?" He sounded so hopeful, like the Alex I remembered from our FBI days. He wouldn't look at me though, and his cheeks were flushed.

"Right." I watched his reaction carefully and was relieved when he glanced at me cautiously, determining whether I was serious. When he determined I was, he grinned. I was amazed at how the smile completely lit up his face. "So, you take care of me until I heal, and then we can go make sure he's actually dead." I offered.

He nodded his agreement, but looked a bit shell-shocked by my easy acceptance of the situation.

Settling back against the couch, I relaxed for the first time in years, trusting Alex Krycek to take care of me. It was a heady sensation.

Now if only I could find the right time to broach the subject of visiting Scully and her son.

~~~

The end

  
Archived: September 26, 2001 


End file.
